Promise of The Rose
by Kikonojo
Summary: Yamato Ishida is prepared to defend to the death that which is his by right of conquest-including the honey golden-haired captive who awakens his soul's most secret yearnings. For theirs is a passion that will not be denied- a magnificent fire that burns
1. The Capture

**The Capture**

**Chapter 1**

_Near Carlisle, 1093_

A lover's tryst. Mimi could not help smiling to herself as she hurried away from the keep, careful not to be seen. It would be her very first such rendezevous, and excitement filled her.

She was in disguise. She had shed her fine outer tunic with its long, jewel-encrusted sleeves for a peasan'ts coarse woolen shift. Her gold girdle had been exchanged for a braided leather belt, her pointy silk shoes for wooden clogs. She had never been clever enough to borrow a pair of rouh wool socks from the dairymaid, and an old linen veil covered her honey brown hair. Although her lover was her betrothed, a clan-destined meeting was out of the question for any lady, much less herself, and she was determined not to get caught.

Mimi's smile broadened. She was immersed in visions of her handsome laird sweeping her into his arms for her very first kiss. Her marriage had been arranged for political reasons, of course, so she knew very well how lucky she was to have fallen in love with Michael Mackinnon, a young man who had been her friend since childhood.

The sound of voices slowed Mimi. For an instant she thought that Michael must have company, but then she realized that the voices were not speaking in Gaelic or English. With a gasp of fright she scrambled behind a big oak tree, crouching down in the grass. She peeped around it. For an instant she could not move, frozen with disbelief.

Norman soldiers filled the small glade in front of her.

Abruptly Mimi haunched down even more, her heart slamming against her ribs. All thoughts of her tryst with woods and into the sunny glade she would have walked right into their camp!

Mimi was afraid to move. She had been teased by her father many times that she was far too clever for a girl, and now her mind was already spinning out its own conclusions. Why were the Norman soldiers there, on Scottish soil? Did they know of the wedding of the Lidel heir that would take place on the morrow? Liddel was an important outpost for her father, Malcolm, holding Carlisle and this part of the border for Scotland against the marauding, treacherous Normans. A fragile peace had reigned in the past two years since Malcolm had sworn fealty again to their Norman king, Rufus the Red, at Abernathy. Had the Normans been so clever, then, knowing that Liddel would be so preoccupied with the wedding festivities that they could camp under its very nose and spy--or do worse? Outrage swept through Mimi. They were up to no good; she must relay this information immediately to Malcolm.

Her knees began to ache from squatting behind the tree. She raised herself slightly to take another peek at the Normans. They were making camp despite the fact that it was still several hours before dark. Scanning the group of men in front of her, she instantly saw why. Her eyes widened. One of the Normans was hurt. Two of the knights were helping a huge man dismount from his destrier, blood pouring down one of his powerful legs. Mimi hated the sight of blood, but she did not look away. She could not. For she was looking at a man she had seen just once before, but had been unable to forget.

Suddenly it was hard to breathe--her lungs felt crushed and her mouth had gone dry. If only she had been able to forget him. Two years ago at Abernathy he had stood behind his rotten King, William Rufus, towering over the King's head of flamming red hair, his face a hard mask, while Rufus was openly smug. And beneath Rufus, on his knees in the dirt, had been her father, Malcolm, the King of Scotland, forced at the point of a sword to swear allegiance to the King of England.

Mimi had been the only maiden present---women were not welcome at such events--and she had come in disguise. It had been a gathering or armies, after another attempt by Malcolm to invade and conquer Northumberland. She had been surrounded by much of the Scot army, all loyal to her father. Yet their numbers had been pitiful in comparison to the forces facing them--the most brutal in the land---that of the Earl of Northumberland. The man she could not remove her gaze from was bastard heir to the earl, Matt Ishida.

As she stared at Northumberland's bastard now. Mimi's fists clenched. Her gaze was riveted on the man. He was one of her father's worst enemies. She prayed his wound would cause him to die.

He did not appear to be at death's door. Although he had to be weak from loss of blood and in great pain, he wore an expression similar to the one he had worn at Abernathy-- hard and inscrutuble. She knew he was ruthless; never had he showed the Scots any mercy. Was he incapable of feeling? Was he even immune to physical pain?

Mimi collapsed. She was perspiring heavily, her mouth absolutely dry. This was worse, so much worse, than she had first thought. Matt Ishida was not just ruthless but a great military commander, exactly like his father, and his prowess was undisputed. He was also ambitious. The family's astonishing rise to preeminence from a history of landlessness was well known, and the whole realm feared the ambition of all the Ishida's. What was he doing here? What disaster did he intend to unleash upon Scotland now?

Mimi knew she must return to the keep and seek an audience with her father. Yet she was terrified of moving, for to be caught by these men wouldbe a catastrophe. Nothing could be worse. Depsite her fear, somehow she must dare to creep backwards, farther into the woods, until she coul safely turn and run.

The camp was busy. The horses were being unsaddled and fed. A small, smokeless fire had been stoked. Broadswords, battle-axes, lances, and shields were placed carefully by the heavy leather saddles. Every indication told Mimi that this was a serious war party. If she did not escape now while the knights were still preoccupied with setting up their camp, she would have to wait until they slept, and then there would be watchful guards posted. Mimi positioned herself in a crouch, refusing to give in to her fear. A twig snapped as she shifted her weight, but no one heard it.

She let out a long breath, backing up a step, never taking her gaze from the camp. At that exact moment a breeze materialized, moving the branches of the big oak tree right above her head. Mimi froze, praying.

Several of the knights nearest to the woods-- and to her-- turned, staring directly at the tree she had been hiding behind. They saw her at once. Mimi did not need any more encouragement. She lifted her skirts and fled.

"Halt! Halt now, wench!"

She heard them crashing through the woods. She ran as hard as she could. Having been raised with six brothers, she was a good runner, fast for a girl, but she was unused to the clumsy clogs. Abruptly she tripped hard and went sprawling down in the grass.

"Oh ho!" shouted one of the men with lecherous laughter. Just as she gained her feet, he was upon her, his hand closing on the folds of her tunic at the nape of her neck. He jerked her back to him.

Mimi screamed as he reeled her in, and when she was close enough, she tried to kick him in the groin. He easily evaded her, and both he and his companion laughed at her very real efforts of resistance.

He immobilized her, enfolding her in his arms. Mimi writhed, but quickly she went still. There was no way to escape his hold. She fought to catch her breath.

"What's this?" Her captor's eyes widened as he got his glimpse of her. His friend was startled into silence as well.

The veil had slipped, and they could clearly see her features. Mimi was well aware that she was beautiful, for she had been told so many times. Indeed, traveling mistrels frequently sang about Princess Mimi and her incomparable beauty. She had a pale, perfect complexion, a small, slightly upturned nose, high cheekbones, and an intriguingly heart-shaped face. Her eyes were almond-shaped and caramel, her mouth full and red.

Yet Mimi knew that beauty of the flesh was unimportant. That concept had been drummed into her head by her mother since she was a child, so she had never cared one way of the other about her looks, until Michael had told her how beautiful he thought her to be just yesterday. And until now. Until she was caught by these two Norman knights whose intentions were obvious. Desperately she tried to think, her wide, catlike eyes filled with a mixture of defiance and fear.

"Ha!" The young knight laughed, pleasure transforming his countenance. "Look at this! Look at what I have found!"

"Ahh, Will, we found her -- we found her," his cohort responded. The other men in the camp had heard Mimi's screams and began to gather around the trio.

"Usually I don't mind sharing, Guy, but not this time," Will replied, tightening his hold on Mimi's arms.

But Mimi wasn't struggling. Wasting her energy was pointless, especially if she needed to converse her strength in order to resist these men. The two knights began to argue over her fate, while another dozen knights ringed them, jeering and leering.

A flash of dull silver color caught Mimi's attention. She saw a knight emerging from the tent, striding towards them. Both Will and Guy fell into silence as the older man approached, elbowing through the circles of men. "What's the ruckus?" His cool dark blue eyes fell on Mimi. "You are disturbing Yamato. What have we here? Tonight's entertainment?"

Mimi had had enough. "I nae be amusement fer the likes of yae!" She had decided to continue her disguise for as long as possible, and she spoke in a heavily accented burr. "Norman pig!"

"Come now, girl, don't you like Normas?" The older man was slightly amused.

"I hate ye all, damn ye to hell!" Mimi spat. She was quaking inside, but she would never let them know it. Then her heart lurched. For behind the man, the tent flap moved again, this time to expose Yamato Ishida.

He limped out, leaning heavily on a staff. His face was drawn in pain and gray in pallor, but his eyes were bright and keenly intelligent. They lanced the small group. "What passes?"

Mimi inhaled. Although a stone's throw separated them, he was bigger than she remembered, bigger and more powerful and more frightening. And he was close to being naked; he had shed his mail and most of his clothing. He wore only a short undertunic which just covered his groin, calf-high boots, and a cloth bandage, high up on one of his powerful thighs.

Intently he met her regard.

Mimi swallowed. She had seen men's legs bare before, of course, but Scotsmen, decently clad in knee-high kilts and tall leggings. Now she quickly looked away, her face already flaming at the male nudity facing her.

"Will appears to have caught us tonight's repast, Matt," the older man said.

Mimi tensed, glancing up. Matt's gaze turned to one of inspection. He did not respond to Ken as his gaze slid down her slim body. Mimi's heart thrudded. She did not like the way he was looking at her, and if he thought to cow her, he would not-- even though she was cowed. She glared furiously back.

"Bring her to me, Ken," Matt ordered, and then he ducked and disappeared back into his tent.

Ken suddenly chortled, a sound at odds with his stern, battle-scarred face and cold, dark-blue eyes. "It appears that his lordship is not as badly off as it appears, and I do think he has settled your argument, lads."

Mimi was paralyzed by the meaning by the meaning of Yamato Ishida's words. The old knight's comment brought her to life. "No!" she cried. Then, remembering her disguise, she reverted to her burr."Nae! Nae!"

Despite her protests, Ken grabbed her arm and propelled her towards the tent. Mimi was a small, slender girl, but nevertheless she fought him every step of the way, digging in her heels, twisting, frantically trying to kick him. He ignored her, dragging her with him as easily as if she were a small child.

Laughter sounded. The men found her pathetic struggle and imminent fate amusing. Hot tears blurred her vision as she heard the coarse jests being bandied about. She could not help but understand what was being so crudely said. Graphic endowment of the man she was being brought to. "His lordship will probably kill her," someone finally joked.

Terror seized her. And then it was too late. Ken was pushing her ahead of him into the tent.

To be continued 

A/N: So what do you think? The upcoming chapters will be updated as soon as I can type them. And sorry for the delay, too loaded with the exams. And by the way, the following title of the chapters is not from the novel D yehey for me! XP


	2. The Captured

**The Capture**

_**Part II**_

Inside it was dark. Mimi stumbled when Ken released her but caught herself before falling. She was trembling and out of breath as her eyes adjusted to the shadows. She finally saw him. Her enemy was half-sitting on the pallet of fur-lined blankets, propped up but his saddle. His presence seemed gigantic in the small tent, and a feeling of claustrophobia and imminent doom swept over her.

Matt sat up straighter. "You may leave us, Ken."

Ken turned. Mimi cried out. "Nae! Do na gae!" But Ken was already gone. She whirled to face Matt, panicked, slim hands raised. "Do nae touch me!"

"Come here."

She froze. His words were soft, but unquestionably a command. The kind of command one automatically obeyed, but her feet did not move, and now her mind was frozen, too.

"Woman, come here, _now_."

Mimi searched his countenance. There was no innuendo in his tone to confirm that her fate was about to be a violent rape-an act that, according to all she had just heard, would most likely murder her. Nevertheless, she was shaking.

Her gaze found his again; he had been studying her, too, with growing impatience. "What do yae want with me?" she managed.

"What do you think I wan?" he gritted. "You are a woman. I am in pain. Come here and tend my leg properly, now."

Mimi started and then relief flooded her. "Is that all yae want?" She was incredulous.

His jaw flexed. "I am used to instant obedience, woman. Come here and do what you have been trained to do."

Mimi knew she must obey, for his rising temper was obvious, but if she did not reach an agreement with him now, while she had some tiny portion of power, she never would. "I will gladly tend ye, if ye promise tae release me unharmed after."

He was openly incredulous. "I command-and you make demands?"

She knew she had pushed him as far as should, that she should not push him any further, but despite herself, she said, "Aye, I do."

He smiled. It was cold and dangerous smile that did not reach his dark, glittering eyes, and it was infinitely frightening. "Very few men have dared to disobey me, and even fewer have survived to see the light of another day."

Mimi inhaled, unable to turn her regard away from his, unable to blink. Whatever power he possessed consumed her. Her knees had turned soft, threatening to give away. And something dangerous and terrible in its potency seemed to reverberate between them. "Do yae threaten me?" she whispered hoarsely.

"Only your sex spares you."

She had not a doubt that if she were a boy, she would now be dead. He was her single most hated enemy, the enemy of her people, of her family, of her father, the King. Her situation was dire, but she must not give in to her growing panic. Mimi stiffened her spine. If ever was the time for heroics, it was now. "Sae do ye agree tae my terms?"

He stared. "I think you are either the most stupid lass I have yet to meet, or the bravest."

She stared back, hardly complimented and too frightened to be furious.

"You heal me and you shall be released."

Mimi gasped. She had attained what she sought, but she was certain she could not trust him, not as far as her youngest brother could spit. She had no choice, however. Grimly Mimi came forward, determined now to see his injury, to tend to him as quickly as was possible, praying she would be freed as he had promised so she could immediately reveal all that she had so far learned to her father. She tried to ignore his brilliant gaze, which never left her person. Swallowing, she knelt by his side. "What happened tae ye?"

"A maddened boor. My horse broke its leg just before the kill, leaving me in the creature's path. I slew it, of course, not before this."

She did not reply. Her gaze was on his hard, dark-skinned, naked thigh. The bandage was already stained crimson. The wound was high, perilously close to his privates. For a moment her glance was drawn there, where she had no business looking-at the dark shadow between his legs.

Heat suffused her. Her hands shook, and she clenched the folds of her skirt.

She saw only a blur of movement, and his huge hand was clamped around her small wrist. A scant second later, she was lying flat on his rock-hard chest, chin to chin with him. When he spoke, his breath touched her lips. "Why do you wait?"

Her gaze left his mouth and flew to his eyes. For the first time she saw the stark pain there. Something twisted in her heart, compassion she refused to entertain. She must not hint of this man as human, or a being hurt and suffering. She must only remember him as an inhuman monster, one capable of single-handedly and cold-bloodedly killing people to suit his aggressive nature.

She nodded, unable to speak, the feel of him warm and solid and disturbing beneath her breasts. He released her. Mimi scrambled onto her knees at his side. She touched the bandage. Cautiously she began to unwrap it.

She winced. The wound was open, bleeding and ugly, but not too deep. Water and lye soap had been brought to clean the injury. "Twill hurt."

He met her gaze, saying nothing. In the dim light his eyes seemed as jet black but she saw a spark of blue, and this close, they were unquestionably beautiful. She pursed her mouth, refusing to dwell upon such thoughts.

The wound was finally clean. Mimi paused, wetting her dry lips, looking at him. "It needs tae be stitched."

"There's a needle and thread and fresh linen behind you." Mimi looked over and nodded. She picked up the needle, hesitating. "Perhaps yae want some wine."

His brow lifted. "So you do have a heart beneath those pretty little breasts?"

She tensed. "I have nae hands fer yae!"

"Do it."

What did she care if he suffered even more at her hands? Unfathomably angry, trembling with agitation, she picked up the needle. She had stitched up wounds before, but she would never grow accustomed to the procedure. Her stomach roiled. She bent over him, working diligently and precisely, aware of his gaze on the top of her head, unable to forget his words. When she had finished she knotted the thread and cut it with her small, white teeth. She straightened, relieved that the surgery was over.

Mimi expected to see him drained of all the color, his face a mask of pain. Instead, his eyes were entirely lucid but brilliant, dangerously brilliant, holding hers. Quickly Mimi picked up a fresh piece of linen, dropping her gaze.

She was greeted with a sight she did not want to see, had no right to see. She had moved his tunic aside to perform the surgery, exposing his heavy genitals, and now, now she quickly settled it back into place. Her face flamed, stinging. She pressed the linen to his leg, trying not to think. But those men were right. If he raped her, he would kill her. Her hands, small and delicate and white, contrasting sharply with his dark, powerful legs, trembled as she quickly tied the bandage.

The exact instant she was done, his hand cupped her face, forcing her chin up and her regard to his. "You dress like a hag, but act like a lady."

Mimi was frozen.

His gaze left her eyes, sliding over her features one by one, finally lingering on her lips. "No peasant woman I have ever seen has a face such as yours."

She opened her mouth but found herself incapable of summoning a self-defense. Her stunned mind could drum up only one terrible image, and that was of her captor pressing her down beneath him on his pallet.

His hand left her face, but caught her own palm, turning over. "Milk white, silk-soft."

Terrified and mute, aware that she had not a single callus, she was drawn to his glittering gaze. She recognizes the intensity there now even though she had never been faced with such an uninhibited display of male lust before.

The corners of his mouth lifted-an attractive, perfectly formed mouth, Mimi could not help thinking-in an expression that could not be described as even the semblance of a smile; rather, it hinted at aggression and triumph and primitive satisfaction. Mimi drew back, a second too late. He had already slipped her veil from her hair. As he leaned close, nuzzling her cheek, he said, "Your hair is clean and smells of flowers." He straightened, staring. "I have little doubt that if I looked beneath your clothes, I would find skin as clean and as sweet-smelling."

Mimi lurched to her feet. She did not get far. He gripped one wrist, jerking her immediately back down on her knees beside him. "Am I correct?"

"Nae! Na' at all! I swear tae yae-" Mimi's words were cut off when his hand snaked up her leg, beneath all of her clothing, a caress of hard, callused palm on soft, naked skin. Mimi cried out, shocked at the violent sensation sweeping through her. She was staring down dumbly at the entire length of her bare leg, from where her wool socks ended at her calf to the very top of her thigh, which he had just exposed.

"As I thought," he said, and now there was a change in his tone, one Mimi immediately recognized despite her inexperience, one that tightened every fiber of her being made her pulse soar.

"I... I can explain," she whispered.

"Soft, so soft, and clean," he said, locking regards with her again. He did not cover up her nakedness. He did not remove his hand from her thigh, his fingertips perilously close to grazing the ripe plumpness at the apex there. Instead, nostrils flared now, he leaned close, his face-his lips-brushing her neck.

He crooned in her ear, his mouth against one lobe, his thumb against another, "So who are you, my lady? And more importantly, what are you, if not a spy?"

To be continued 

A/N: Olla fellow readers! So sincerely sorry for just updating. Hope you enjoyed this! Promise of the Rose is really one of Brenda Joyce's work of art! There will also be another story going to happen. So please read it when I've uploaded it! Thank you!


	3. Secrecy of the Maiden

**The Maiden's Secrecy**

Yamato Ishida watched her wrench away from him with a cry of fright. Had he thrown icy water over her head, he could not have shocked her more. She did not get far. His grip was iron on her wrists. Casually he pulled her back to him, until her nose almost touched his.

He was indifferent to women, with precisely two exceptions, but he was not immune to females he found attractive, and this one was probably as close as perfection as anyone would ever come-in face and form, at least. Despite the fact that she was no common wench-that undoubtedly she was experienced courtesan sent to whore for him and spy upon him by his enemies, of whom he had a few-he was hardly indifferent to the entire length of her naked leg, now clamped between his, or the softness of her breasts, crushed against his chest, or the astounding beauty of her face, just inches from his own.

Blood had long since surged to his phallus. He was heavy and impatient. Their position was so intimate that she could feel every inch of him, but wasn't seduction her intention? Why else would such a woman be sent to him in such an elaborate disguise? He attributed her wide, frightened gaze to his having ascertained truth.

For a moment, despite his better intentions, he longed to take her, then and there, hard and fast, and be done with it. Answers could come later. But he was his father's son and heir. Furthering interests of Northumberland had been his overriding ambition since he had won his spurs at thirteen. His reputation as keen and ruthless leader had been earned, not given. Answers could not wait. If his enemies knew he was there, the King's plans were in jeopardy.

"Wh-What?" Mimi finally managed to gasp.

"I think you heard me very well, demoiselle," he said coldly. Because his blood was so overheated, he set her down on the pallet beside him while keeping cautious grip on her wrist. Inherent politeness made him refer to her as if she were a lady when she was obviously the furthest thing from it, although to look at her, a man would never guess so. For some reason, he was disappointed that her angelic facade was only that, a facade. "Who has sent you here to spy upon me? Montgomery? Roger Beaufort? The King? or is Prince Henry once again up his infernal tricks?"

She stared at him as if mesmerized. He was hardened man, yet a pang of empathy swept him. She was young, very young. The courtesans he knew-and so frequently used-were older and widowed. This girl looked to be no more than fifteen or sixteen, but again, looks deceived.

"I am nae spy," she gasped out.

"Do not treat me as a fool," he said coldly.

"Yae promised tae released me!"

"I am not yet healed." He watched her absorb his statement. Instantly she understood his meaning, rage suffusing her features. He should not be surprised at how quick she was. Only a very clever woman would be sent to work her wiles upon him.

"Yae deceived me!" she cried. "Yae made me believe yae'd let me gae after I tended tae yer wound!"

"You believed what you chose to believe." His patience was at an end. "Enough. I demand answers and I demand them now. Who are you and who sent you?"

She shook her head, tears coming to her eyes, tears that could not, he told himself, affect him. He knew from many years of experience that, with very few exceptions, women were not to be trusted. This one was not one of those exceptions; indeed, she should be mistrusted more than most. She was young but no innocent and no child. Undoubtedly her fear and tears were theatrics.

"I am nae spy."

Another thought had occurred to him. "Or did Malcolm Canmore send you?"

She started. "Nae! He dinna! I dinna even know him! I am nae spy, I swear tae yae!"

She was lying. He was certain of it. Just as he was certain now that Malcolm Canmore was behind this treachery. Newfound anger made him doubly grim. "I warn you, demoiselle, I have the means of forcing information from you, and once provoked, I am merciless."

"Please! I can explain tae yae, tis not what yae think!"

"Then I suggest you do so now."

"I-I am a bastard. Me father is Sinclair o' Dounreay Castle, me mother a dairymaid," she blurted, fast.

He did not raise a brow. Such a claim was only possible if she thought to dupe him, given her absurdly ill-fitting disguise. And it was possible that she was actually some laird's by-blow. Yet he was certain that she was lying, and she would only be lying if she were a spy. "Eager now to volunteer information, demoiselle? Where is Dounreay?"

"As far north as ye can gae." She worried her hands in her lap, not meeting his eyes.

It was an excellent lie. He would not be able to confirm her parentage in timely manner, although confirm it, he would. He almost felt a grudging respect for her; she was no fool. And to come to him on such an errand took a great deal of courage. "As far noth as you can go," he repeated. "As far north as the Orkney Islands?"

She smiled in relief. "Almost."

He sat very still, regarding her. It was the first time that she had smiled since he had laid his eyes upon her, and if he had thought her beautiful before, she was glorious now. The interrogation had distracted him from his carnal inclinations, but now his blood roiled and his shaft reared rock-hard against his short shift again. Grimly he probed

on.

"I see. And what brings you so far south to Carlisle?"

She was flushing crimson, tearing her gaze from his loins.

He could almost see her mind working. It was clear to him that she thought frantically for a plausible answer, which puzzled him. If she were as clever as he was becoming convinced that she was, she should have memorized her story far in advance of their meeting. Nor did he understand her blushes.

"I am from Liddel. My mother was from Liddel."

Matt leaned back against his saddle, clapping his hands twice. "A memorable performance, demoiselle."

"Yae dinna believe me!"

"I do not believe a single word you have said."

She froze, her eyes huge and riveted to his.

"You have ten seconds, demoiselle, to tell me all of the truth. If you fail to do so, you shall suffer the consequences as forewarned."

She gasped, pulling away from him. He knew her intentions the moment she did. She lurched to her feet, intent on escape. Although there was nowhere for her to run to but into arms of his men, Matt responded as any red-blooded male would. Despite the pain that shot through him, he staggered to his feet, too. He caught her at once. She screamed.

Without another thought, Matt turned her in his arms and gripped the back of her head and covered her mouth with his.

He had touched her intimately, but he had not really kissed her. Not in the manner he had wished to, from the moment he first gazed upon her extraordinary face. His kiss was openmouthed and thorough. His hands slid down her back, each palm cupping one of her buttocks. "Let's try again, _petite_," he said hoarsely, lifting her up against his raging erection. He moved his mouth down on hers.

"Nae," she began, but was cut off. His mouth opened hers quickly. Matt plumed her warmth with his tongue, each thrust becoming more and more forceful, more rapacious. Tentatively she met one, and the tips of their tongue touched.

He could not help himself, his body surged even more wildly, more impossibly, in response to her-he wanted complete instant surrender. He expected it. He needed it-now. But to his amazement, she suddenly pulled her face away from his. "No-we must not."

"Do not tease me now," he gritted, catching her chin in one hand. He forced her mouth up to his again.

She cried out in another halfhearted protest. She raised her small fists against his chest, then clutched his tunic. Matt would have laughed with primitive elation except for the fact that he was too intent now to laugh about anything. Their mouths were fused, their tongues mated.

Suddenly she tore her face away. She writhed frantically in his iron embrace, as if to escape, yet her every gyration, brushing his manhood, was as artful and agonizing as a whore's purposeful caress. As an actress, she was superb. For it was almost as if she were not a seductress, as if, knowing the end was near, she was truly panicked. Despite his brief confusion, he could not stop himself now. He managed to reassure himself that she deliberately provoked his confusion to incite him even more wholly.

He took her mouth again. When their loins touched as he settled himself upon her, she went still.

Lightning appeared to have struck them both. "I cannot wait," he whispered, words he had never whispered before.

The eyes he gazed down into as he spoke were wide with emotions he could not identify. Her face was flushed pink and sheened with perspiration. She did not move. And her palms curled about his massive shoulders, gripping him tightly.

Matt spread her legs wide with his knees, beginning to shake fiercely. He was aware of the drops of sweat that rolled down his face and onto hers.

Their gazes met, held. She opened her mouth but said nothing. Matt looked at her breasts, heaving beneath her gown. He touched her breasts. She closed her eyes and sobbed, the sound laden with anguish.

He looked down at her and could no more help himself from touching her now than he had before. He slid his hand between her legs and found the folds of her flesh-swollen heavy with pulse of her blood. She was as hot for him as she was for her, spy or not. This was not act. He thrust a finger into her.

He froze. There was no mistaking the barrier he had come up against. He was shocked. She could not be a virgin-she was a whore sent to spy. But she was a virgin; it was a fact.

And in the midst of confusion there was a sudden and sweeping sense of elation-she had never known a man; he would be the first.

This far aroused, he had never denied himself. But he had never taken a virgin before-unlike many men he knew, rape had never excited him. And if she was a virgin, then she was no whore sent to spy upon him.

Matt's mind reached these astounding conclusions in mere seconds. It was probably the hardest deed he had ever done, but he launched himself off of her. Dazed and panting, he lay unmoving on his stomach beside her, wishing the fur pallet he was pressing himself into was much, much harder.

Sanity returned swiftly despite the persistent ache in his loins. There were no virgin whores, no virgin spies. Was it possible that she had been telling him the truth? Was her father some northern laird, her mother a dairymaid? It was plausible, yet he doubted it. Her hands had never seen rough labor, but she was dressed as one who labored. If she was a bastard, she had been raised as a lady. This costumed was a disguise. Why?

Suddenly she moved. She slid from the pallet, as quickly as a wild vixen. Matt was even quicker, reaching out and grabbing her before she took a second step, without moving from the furs. His leg hurt too much now for such antics. The force of his grip caused her to fall in a heap at his side.

Restraining a groan, he sat up and extended his hand to her. "Mademoiselle?"

She was panting. Although he saw that she was furious, he allowed her to take his hand and lifted her to her feet. It was a mistake. Immediately she drew back her fist and hit him with all of her strength in his jaw.

He didn't move, stunned speechless.

"Norman bastard! You are a pig and a brute! And a liar!" she shrieked. She raised her fist to hit him again.

This time Matt reacted. He caught her wrist, pulling her forward. She wound up in his lap.

"No!" She screamed, twisting to leap free of him.

He held her in place. "You have deceived me, struck me, and maligned me," he said harshly, shaking her once. She went still. "I though you brave, but now I am beginning to think you very foolish-or mad."

She lifted her chin, a defiant gesture, despite the fact that her eyes were glazed with unshed tears. "I am not mad."

His jaw tightened. "You have lost your burr, demoiselle."

She paled. "When can I leave?"

"You were not so eager to leave me-and my bed-a few moments ago."

She flushed. "No, I am eager to leave your bed-to leave you. This minute is not soon enough."

"Who's the liar now?"

"I speak the truth!"

"I think not. Indeed, thus far you have not spoken a single word that is true. I ask you again, who are you and why are you here?"

She swallowed, meeting him stare for stare. He felt her mind working. "Please unhand me," she said huskily. "And I will tell you all."

Giving her a skeptical look, he did as she asked. She scooted to her feet and put the length of the tent between them, standing with her back to the exit, hugging herself defensively. Her posture made him see her as a child, not a woman, ad he was suddenly ashamed of his behavior. By all the saints, he had treated her as he would a whore, and she was a young virgin, certainly not more than sixteen. Perhaps the real question wasn't who she was, but _what_ was she? Virgin or whore, villein or lady, child or woman? Spy or innocent? "You may begin with your name."

She wet her lips. "Mairi. Mairi Sinclair. My father is Rob Sinclair. My mother is dead, and she was a maid in Liddel."

She flinched from his gaze. "And you were right-these clothes are a disguise."

Tersely he said, "Were you sent to me to spy?"

"No!" She was pale. "I was in disguise because I was meeting someone. A-A man."

And Matt understood. "Ahh, I see now. A man."

Again her small chin lifted. "Tis not what you think. The man was, I mean, he is my betrothed."

His stare was ice. "You have yet to explain your disguise."

"Tis unseemly for a lady to tryst with a man, even when that man is to be her husband, and you know it well."

"And who is this paragon of manhood who lures you to an undoubted fall from grace?"

She bit her lip. "What does it matter?"

It shouldn't matter, except for the fact that he intended to verify every word she said. "It matters." He was not pleased to realized that he was peeved-perhaps even jealous-that this woman obviously coveted another man. "Do you love him?"

She was furious. "That, Sir Norman, is none of your affair!"

It wasn't. He stood stiffly, finding his staff in order to lean upon it. Then he limped to her until he was towering over her. He ad to admire her; she stood her ground. "To the contrary, demoiselle, you are now wholely my affair. And until I am satisfied, you shall be detained."

She lost the little color she had. "_Until you are satisfied, I shall be detained! _What do you mean?"

"I mean," he said grimly, "that I intend to unearth the truth, the entire truth, about you, and until I do, you are my guest." He hobbled past her, raising the tent flap.

"Your guest!" she cried after him. "You mean that I am your prisoner! But why? What have I done? I have done nothing, Norman!"

He paused and turned. "To the contrary, demoiselle. You have whetted my very jaded appetite, and my even more jaded interest. If you are indeed of little import, I think we shall suit well, you and I, for a time, at least."

Mimi stared after his back as he limped from the tent, leaving her alone. What did that last remark mean? Oh, dear God! She dared not delude herself. He suspected her deceit, intended to find the truth, and whether he did or not, she was in great jeopardy!

She sank down on the hard dirt floor, limp and drained. Mimi had delivered herself right into the hands of her father's worst enemy.

The Norman's parting words echoed, a frightening refrain. If she understood him, he intended to assuage his lust on her if he thought her to be of no importance to anyone. Thus, if he did not learn the truth of her identity, she would be taken and used until he tired of her and discarded her. She would, in fact, be ruined. Michael would no longer want her. Of course, he was no fool and he would still marry her. After all, she was a princess with a great dowry.

She almost wept. The only thing worse would be if the Norman learned the truth. If he discovered that she was the daughter of Malcolm Canmore, she would be a hostage until her father paid whatever exorbitant ransom her captor demanded. She did not fool herself for an instant. The Norman would do his best to cripple her father. He would demand for more than gold and coin; he would demand land. Precious, priceless Scottish land. Land that Scottish blood had been spilled over again and again.

Mimi closed her eyes. How could she keep her identity hidden yet still hold him at bay for any length of time? It seemed an impossible task. Escape was the only solution, but for the moment, that, too was impossibility.

She wiped her eyes. Tears solved nothing. She must ready herself for their next war of wits and wills. So far she had not done very well. And she did not want to repeat what had just passed between them-the encounter that had drained her so, yet left her feeling disturbed and agitated and so strangely ripe.

_What just passed between them_. Mimi made a choked sound, her mind flooding with fresh memories. To her horror, she could still feel his touch, his mouth on hers, his hard loins on hers, and her body began throbbing. She covered her face with her hands. Mimi could no longer avoid shame. It overwhelmed her.

Mimi sank down on the dirt floor, huddling into a small ball. Finally numbness settled upon her aching mind, but sleep eluded her. She drifted restlessly, listening to the sounds of the night and the camp, the nickering of horses, a hooting owl, the men talking quietly outside, until the last of their voices died down. As the human sounds faded, she tensed, waiting for inevitable footsteps-footsteps she was certain would come. She lay rigid for a long time, but they did not come-he did not come.

To be continued 


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